


Memories

by orphan_account



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-02 18:23:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20813678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Rosalie remembers a moment as a human.





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

> honestly dont even know what came over me but i blinked and then this sad rosalie ficlet appeared.
> 
> I imagine this is either immediately before or after Rosalie talks to Bella about her story in Eclipse.

Most of my human memories had faded. That was yet another downside to immortal life. Eventually, your human memories get buried under decades of vampire memories. 

Some human memories remained, vividly, though. For various reasons.

The night that I was turned into a vampire, for example. That night is seared into my brain forever. The terror, the pain, and then the burning transformation to vampire were something I could never forget even though I sometimes desperately wished I could.

Fear, or pain, or survival instincts what must be what makes some memories stay longer.

Other memories stay because you want them to. Because you play them over and over in your mind so that it never disappears.

Some memories stay, even if you hadn’t consciously thought of them since before you were turned. 

If you’re lucky, you might even remember the very best parts of being human.

I remember being perhaps four years old. Sitting with my father in a big armchair while he reads the paper to me. I don’t remember what he was saying, — economical nonsense I couldn’t understand at the time anyway, if I had to guess —but I remember the rest in crystal clarity.

Sometimes he would smoke tobacco from a pipe, and the smell clung to the suit jacket he had forgotten to take off when he got home that evening. I remembered this scent fondly. It was warm, spicy but sweet.

I distinctly remember watching his eyes scan over the words as he read, and wondering how it was possible for him to read so quickly.

Ironic, now that I think about it.

And I remember him folding the newspaper _so _precisely when he was done, though he tossed it carelessly to the table. Then he patted my little shoulder, and helped me off the chair. 

“Off to bed, now.” I don’t actually remember his voice. I know he must’ve said it, as he did almost every night back then.

Such a mundane moment, maybe only fifteen seconds long; yet I would spend eternity yearning for a similar moment with my own daughter.


End file.
